A part of her felt selfish, knowing she would
probably be one of the first staff members to be ousted if there was a
reorganization, but more was at stake than just her position or even the
security her job afforded Pam. The agency itself was at risk, and she would do
anything to protect it. She believed in what they did, and believed that
Winfield’s century-long contributions to the arts should not be only preserved,
but continued. “I’ll be more than happy to assist you.”
“I’m afraid it might be a little more than
assistance, but I’ll try not to work you too hard.” Derian winced. “I’m going
to need a pretty intensive course in how things run around here.”
“Whatever you need,” Emily said.
Whatever
you need.
Derian needed things she hadn’t even realized she wanted
until now. She wanted to prove to her father that she was capable, a word he
had always used to remind her she was less than what he wanted in a child, less
than the sycophants who followed him around, less than anyone. She wanted to
take care of Henrietta, and a big part of that was taking care of the agency
and securing Emily’s future there. She wanted Emily to look at her as she had a
few minutes ago when she’d first walked in—with a flush of pleasure and a quick
flash of desire. Everything she wanted was connected, and at the heart of it
all was Emily.
“How about we meet after lunch and go over
the calendar, so I can get some idea what I’ll be in for.”
“Two o’clock?”
“That sounds fine.” Derian rose. “I think I
might actually get to like this job.”
As she headed back toward her office, she
heard Emily’s soft laughter. The sound made her smile.
*
“You’re really serious about this?” Aud said
as the waiter at the Old Homestead slid steaks onto the table and misted away
as if he’d been incorporeal.
“Of course.”
“Dere,” Aud said with a mixture of affection
and exasperation, “despite the fact that Martin thinks of the agency as
Henrietta’s pet hobby, it’s a multimillion-dollar business. It’s not something
you can just pick up in a day or two.”
Derian cut into her filet and sipped her
Scarecrow cabernet. “You honestly think I don’t know that?”
“I know you enjoy irritating your father.”
Derian smiled. “Am I? Good.”
“Honestly, Dere. Are you still seventeen?”
“Is that a nice way of saying I’m being
juvenile and irresponsible?”
“No.” Aud sighed. “I may be one of the few
people who knows you’re neither of those things. But what are you really
doing?”
“Martin is taking advantage of Henrietta’s illness.”
Derian kept her rage on a tight leash. Aud wasn’t the enemy, but it was hard to
know she was in Martin’s camp all the same. “Don’t you find that just a little
bit reprehensible? Don’t you find it just a little bit hard to continue
carrying the standard for him, when he’s such a coldhearted bastard?”
“I’m not carrying his standard,” Aud said,
but she’d flushed and, for just an instant, had looked away.
“Then what?”
“My father has cancer,” she said quietly.
Derian put down her silverware and took Aud’s
hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“How could I? You’re never here.”
“I’m sorry.” Derian accepted the blame. Now
wasn’t the time to argue their long, complicated relationship. Now was the time
to draw on the love they’d always shared. “When did you find out?”
“He was first diagnosed with colon cancer
seven years ago.”
“You didn’t tell me even then?”
“I promised I wouldn’t. No one knew. He
didn’t want people to look at him and see a weak man.” Aud’s eyes clouded and
she hesitated, blinking. “As if he was ever that.”
Derian pulled out the folded linen
handkerchief in her pocket and handed it to her. She remembered doing the same
for Emily. “Does Martin know?”
“He’s one of the few. He’s been decent about
it, but I’m not sure what will happen now.”
“There’s a recurrence?”
“Yes, and it’s fairly widespread. There’s
treatment,” Aud said with false brightness, “and of course we’re all certain
he’s going to beat it back this time as well, but—”
“You don’t have to explain. Of course you’ll
be there in any way he needs you.” She squeezed Aud’s hand. “I’m really sorry.
If you need anything, if George needs anything, I’m here.”
“Are you, Dere?” Aud smiled sadly. “You’re
not, really, you know. Sometimes a person needs more than a voice on the phone
or a text.”
“I’m here now,” Derian said, and for the
first time, she realized she meant it. Her responsibilities no longer felt like
obligations heaped on her shoulders, forcing her to be a person she didn’t want
to be. She was becoming the person she wanted to be on her own terms. “I plan
to stay at the agency as long as I can, because the longer Henrietta takes to
recover, the better it will be for her long-term. And if you need me, or your
father does, I’ll be here after that.”
“Why? Why the sudden change?”
“People change,” Derian said softly. “Or
maybe they just grow into the people they always were.”
“How much of this sea change has to do with
Emily?”
Derian tensed. “I don’t know what you’re
talking about.”
“Don’t you?” Aud sighed wearily. “All right,
then. We’ll save that for another time.”
“Actually, I did want to ask you about her.”
Derian went back to eating, carefully and casually asking, “Explain to me about
this whole visa situation and why all of a sudden it’s a problem.”
“How much do you know?”
“Start at the beginning—small words.” She
listened carefully as she sipped her wine, her appetite waning as Aud described
the miasma of agencies, quotas, applications, approvals, and vicissitudes of
the immigration process. In the end she wondered how anyone ever made their way
through the system. “So what’s the procedure to straighten all this out?”
Aud shrugged. “We file the papers, the
applications, and the justifications, and hopefully everything will go through
as it has in the past.”
“Assuming Martin doesn’t get his way and start
cutting staff and reorganizing the agency.”
“Admittedly, Emily’s status isn’t as…secure
as it might be.”
“Is there any way to secure her status for
the long term?” Derian filled Aud’s glass and her own.
“Well, ideally, she would become a permanent
resident, which is another long and less-than-certain process. But even that
wouldn’t put her in line for taking over the agency, despite what Henrietta
wants. You know the unwritten word—family first.”
“Martin doesn’t care about family,” Derian
said. “That’s just a smokescreen to manipulate me and everyone else.”
“Not entirely true,” Aud argued. “Part of the
strength of Winfield Enterprises is its legacy of being family run. If you
really mean what you say about staying, then you should be Henrietta’s permanent
successor.”
“I don’t want the job permanently.” Derian
considered all the permutations Aud had just told her. “Emily needs her green
card.”
“That would solve a lot of problems, yes.”
“Well, then there is a solution. She needs to
get married.”
“That’s the best solution.” Aud laughed. “But
probably not a timely one, unless you plan on marrying her yourself.”
Derian smiled and sipped her wine.
Aud stared. “You can’t be serious.”
“It would certainly solve all the issues at
one time—for everyone. She’d be established here in the country, and she’d be
family, so she could take over from Henrietta.”
“Really, Derian. That’s crazy.”
“Why? It’s not illegal, and she’s already
proven she deserves the position.”
“What about the small issue of the marriage
being a sham?”
“Lots of people get married for lots of
reasons, and this is as good as any.” Thinking of her parents, she grimaced.
“Better than many.”
“What about the small matter of love?”
Derian went very still inside, the kind of
icy calm she always experienced in moments of highest risk. “Emily’s career is
her main focus, and you know what the circuit is like. I’d be away frequently.
We’d have a very compatible relationship.”
“If I really thought you were serious, I’d
try to stop you.” Aud shook her head. “But even you can’t be that crazy.”
Derian didn’t argue. Aud wasn’t the one she
needed to convince of her seriousness.
The downstairs buzzer rang at 6:30 a.m. Someone had
buzzed her apartment by mistake. Emily debated ignoring it, but almost immediately
changed her mind. Maybe it was an early-morning delivery of some kind. She
pressed the intercom button beside the door. “Yes?”
“I come bearing gifts.”
A delivery, but not one she’d been expecting.
“Derian?” She didn’t really have to ask. She
recognized the golden honey-smooth timbre of her voice and recognized the quick
upbeat of her heart as well. She glanced down at her fluffy bunny slippers and
her sweats and her tank top. “I’m not dressed.”
“Oh, then by all means, hurry up and buzz me
in.”
Laughing, Emily said, “I thought we were
meeting at the convention center?”
“I know, but I was awake, and I knew you’d be
up. Should I just leave my gifts out here on the steps?”
“Of course not.” Emily pressed the foyer door
release and contemplated whether she had enough time to change into
something—anything—that wasn’t this. Too late. Derian must have taken the
stairs three at a time, because somehow she was rapping at the door already.
Sighing, Emily opened the door and immediately forgot why she cared what she
was wearing.
Derian smiled in at her, her dark hair
slightly windblown, her darker eyes dancing with mischief and pleasure. She
leaned in and kissed Emily’s cheek. Her lips were warm. “Hi.”
“Uh…hi.” Emily held the door open wider and
Derian breezed by, full of energy and carrying the scent of spring, brisk and
fresh and new. She shed her topcoat and casually draped it over the arm of the
sofa. She wore tailored dark pants, a black belt, and a pearl gray shirt.
Professionally casual. Gorgeous. Breathtaking.
“You look great.”
Derian tilted her head, eying Emily as if
she’d never been complimented before. Which was impossible. “Thanks. I’ve been
studying the dress code.”
Emily laughed at the outright exaggeration
and caught the aroma of something mouthwatering. “What have you been doing so
early this morning? Whatever you’ve got in there smells wonderful.”
“City Bakery.” Derian carried the bag to the
little table in front of the windows and settled easily into the chair, looking
totally at home. Her gaze wandered over Emily and she grinned. “You look
terrific, by the way.”
Emily tried to keep the blush from rising to
her face. “I look like I’m in my pajamas, which I am. Thankfully, I have
showered.”
Derian’s mouth quirked. “I thought I smelled
something wonderful just now.”
“Would you like some tea?” Emily tried
desperately to redirect the conversation.
“Sure.” Derian leaned back in the chair and
stretched out her legs, totally content to simply watch Emily move about her
small kitchen with practiced efficiency. She did look great in a pale salmon
tank top, red sweatpants that had been washed so much they too were nearly a
faded pink, and honest-to-God bunny slippers. How could someone look so sexy
and not know it? Watching her was a pleasure, but suddenly she wanted more.
“This thing we’re going to,” Derian said,
hearing the huskiness in her voice, “how important is it?”
Emily paused in the process of pouring
steaming water into her teapot and shrugged. “The BEA? For us, it’s like the
biggest race on the Grand Prix circuit.”
Derian frowned. “Really.”
“Really.” Emily carried the robin’s-egg blue
teapot, cups, and matching sandwich plates to the table on a hand-painted tray
picturing a weeping willow beside a sparkling waterfall and set it down. “Why?”
Derian caught Emily’s hand, pulled her onto
her lap, and nuzzled her neck. “So it would be a bad thing if we blew it off.”
Emily stiffened for an instant, surprise
giving way to a swift surge of desire. She’d already wrapped her arms around
Derian’s neck before she realized what she was doing. And by then she didn’t
care to consider anything but the urge for Derian’s mouth on her skin. She
tilted her head to give her throat, stroking Derian’s nape as she thrust her
fingers into her hair, wanting nothing more than for Derian to continue her
slow course of kisses down her neck, for Derian’s hands to slide under her
T-shirt and over her bare belly and breasts. God, she wasn’t wearing underwear.
“Derian. We have to go to the meeting.”
“Uh-huh.” Derian pressed her cheek to the
creamy, soft skin of Emily’s chest and wrapped her arms around Emily’s waist,
closing her eyes and breathing her in. “How late can we be?”
“We have appointments first thing.”
Derian rubbed her cheek over the swell of
Emily’s breast. “Every other second—no,
every
second—I think about being with you, like this, of kissing you slowly,
everywhere, and undressing you, filling my hands with you.”
“No one has ever said anything like that to
me before,” Emily said with a sigh. She cradled Derian’s cheek and raised
Derian’s head from her breast. Dark, enticing shadows swam in Derian’s eyes,
beckoning her, promising her pleasure and discovery. Emily kissed her, craving
the taste of her, yearning for the heat she knew would flood her. Derian
groaned deep in her chest, a primal, possessive sound Emily loved. She loved
the power she had to make Derian hunger as she hungered. Desire flared, pulled
from deep inside where some ancient, primitive voice echoed
yes
. Yes and yes and
yes. Distantly, her mind reverberated with
no,
no, no
, but her mind was no match for the sensations swirling
through her. The excitement, the wonder, the aching clawing need. “Oh God. We
have to stop, but you feel so good.”